


New Flowers

by Fanaticit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Canon Asexual Character, Flowers, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Martin Blackwood Has a Crush on Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Oblivious Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, POV Third Person Omniscient, Pining Martin Blackwood, You Don’t Need Kisses For Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26710588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanaticit/pseuds/Fanaticit
Summary: It was a cloudy Monday morning when Jon first found flowers on his desk.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 79
Kudos: 251





	1. White Gardenias

It was a cloudy Monday morning when Jon first found flowers on his desk.

Somebody had snuck into his office and left white gardenias in a foreign vase upon his desk, leaving the lights on and his chair out of place. The smooth texture of the petals resembled fancily folded napkins, or sheets stretched across a hotel mattress, even the thick lace of a bridal headdress.

But... why? And how? Every strange question sprinted through his mind, but he couldn't find an answer. Was it a message? A threat? An invitation? 

The vase was circular and glass, pretty and also entirely unremarkable. It left a ring of water on the papers beneath it when Jon lifted it to examine. He turned it around, looked at it from each angle, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. The water was clear, the flowers pristine, and Jon felt frustrated. He delicately took one of the flowers out of the arrangement by the stem, running his fingers across the soft petals. Nothing. Jon wasn't sure what he expected, but it hadn't been nothing. 

Right, then. He'd have to do some research.

When he searched up "white gardenia," he only saw shrubs, perfume, candles, and hand soaps. It had quite a nice smell, which he could sense now as well. Leaning in, he breathed in the scent of the gardenias, then momentarily panicked. 

He'd just breathed in the scent of an unknown flower delivered to him out of work hours. He didn't know anything about the flower, who had sent it, he didn't know anything at all. Jon quickly searched "White gardenia toxic?" and sighed in relief as it appeared that they weren't dangerous to humans, according to the first few sentences of an article that was recommended. 

Instead, he searched for white gardenia history and origin but didn't find anything at all that could be relevant. He briefly considered that they could've been misdelivered, but no. They were in his office, not on his doorstep. Whoever had left them had known who would find them.

Finally, he searched "white gardenia symbolism" and a whole mountain of information opened up to him. 

They symbolized purity, love, peace, and harmony. They were often used in interior decoration and, oddly enough... wedding bouquets. 

The symbolism was clearly nonsense since every flower he searched for afterward had similar poetry waxed about them. Purity, family, respect, first love. Every flower seemed to work for something. Clearly, the flower symbolism was just a large marketing ploy to boost sales for flower shops. 

It was probably nothing, and there weren't any clues in the flowers or the vase as to their origin, so Jon decided he'd leave it alone for now. It was probably just a mistake, anyway. The monsters in the archive's statements weren't real, and beyond that, they didn't seem to make a habit of delivering flowers. 

So it was a mistake, it must've been. After all, why else would there be flowers on his desktop? Who would even consider delivering flowers to Jonathan Sims?

So he let it be forgotten and the flowers lived on his desk, then died there as well after two long weeks of a strange brightness in his room. He finally threw them out when they started to go brown and wilted.

He didn't anticipate the assortment of peonies that would appear in the vase the very next day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter has been edited. I didn't change too much, but I corrected a few things so the timeline would be more accurate. Jon doesn't know about monsters and entities yet, but I firmly believe that he would still think they were a message or a threat because he doesn't know how to respond to people being interested in him.  
> Thank you dearly for every kudos, comment, and thank you to every person who reads this. Have a wonderful day! :)  
> \--Fanaticit


	2. Camellias and Lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is quite confused about the flowers left for him, but he learns to make peace with them.

"So someone left flowers on your desk, is that right?"

Jon sighed in impatience. Sometimes Elias seemed so... infuriating. Like he thought he was superior and had to teach everyone around him how to behave like an adult. It was tiring. "Yes, and since we're t _he Magnus Institute_ , it's quite worrying. I mean, one look at Artefact Storage could tell you that. I did a bit of research, but they don't appear to be harmful to humans, but they can be to animals. Perhaps someone was attempting to cause me stress by causing an animal stress, though it does seem quite far-fetched, seeing as animals don't exactly come into my office, where the gardenias were placed. That left me to believe they were a message of some type, so I decided to look up common codes using flor--."

"You're grasping at straws, Jon," Elias interrupted. "I have a donor party to plan, and plenty of files to go over. I would certainly appreciate it if you could leave it be? On another note, I left paperwork on your desk, I would appreciate it if you could fill it out, preferably sooner rather than later. Have a... nice day." With that, Elias shut the door to his office, leaving Jon in the hallway without answers.

Tim wasn't any help either. When Jon questioned him about the gardenias, he made strange contortions in his eyebrows and a ridiculous face, spouting nonsense about "thirstiness for Jonathan Sims," or something along those lines. Then he promptly refused to answer any further questions.

Eventually, Jon decided he wasn't going to find an answer through research, and if there was a message for him, whoever had sent it would follow up later with something more detailed. While they were beautiful in his office, they became a source of paranoia and annoyance. Whenever Tim came into his office, he'd wink and ask "Did you figure out who those flowers were from, boss?" or "So how's that development going? Any updates on the love life of Jonathan Sims? C'mon, gimme the details." It was confusing, but Tim always was, so Jon learned to ignore it over time. 

Martin always acted strangely around the flowers as well. He'd stare at them with some emotion Jon couldn't decipher, then intensely ignore them the rest of the time. He almost seemed embarrassed. Jon didn't bring it up, neither did he. Eventually, the flowers became normal, and Tim stopped pestering him. They were just another addition to the strange archives, and when everyone was surrounded by monsters and tomes and tape recorders, a vase of flowers didn't seem like something to focus on. 

The flowers died thirteen days later. They'd been wilting for two days. When the leaves started losing their pristine white tablecloth folds, Jon took off the damaged petals and put them in a plastic bottle. When they started to mold and yellow growths started to sprout on the decomposing leaves, he threw the flowers out, along with the bottle of petals and whatever had decided to grow in their remains. He saw Martin staring at the bin where he'd thrown out the dead flowers, wistful. Jon decided not to think about it. 

He then left the building, packing up a briefcase of work he'd do that night during his meal. The vase sat on his desk in the dark rooms of the Magnus Institute at nighttime. 

When Jon returned the next morning, a blooming bouquet rested in the vase on the desk. Instead of the formal white gardenias, they were a vibrant dancer's costume, a flower spun from spiderwebs, the blossoming sight of a sunny paper napkin. Yellow peonies, surrounded with yellow acacia which was assorted messily yet professionally around the blooms, like cherry blossoms of brushed out yarn. A sight, indeed. 

Jon almost started to research if they were toxic. But if there were toxic flowers being delivered to him, then why didn't the last ones cause damage? Besides, who would actually care enough to hurt him? Jon pushed past his worry, trying to focus on the present. The flowers were breathtaking, and Jon reached out to brush his fingers across the silken texture of their petals. 

Elias didn't care about the flowers in the slightest. Tim made a big deal at first, then punctually abandoned the newest archive gossip as soon as the topic changed. Martin was blushing again whenever he came into the room, but Jon didn't press him on it. 

They were a welcome distraction to his statements. They seemed to make the air clearer, and bring some life to the room when Jon felt like he'd sucked the life out of it and worked himself into exhaustion. The flowers were a spirited element of his office, which he grew accustomed to, and even started to appreciate. The peonies and acacia started to wilt, and one night they were removed from his office and replaced with a mass of forget-me-nots.

There was now a circular mark left behind on Jon's desk from the vase. He didn't mind. Having some form of life in his office that didn't get tired and strained and afraid like people did but still gave off an aura of "you aren't alone" was serene. The mark of the vase on his desk was worth it. 

Jon was curious about the origins of the vase and its frequently replaced contents, but he didn't question them. His paranoia on them faded to a blur in the back of his head as he brought his finger to the edge of a camellia that had shown up in the vase this morning alongside a bundle of lavender. It looked like expert piping work on a decorative cake. 

Martin showed up and asked him if he'd like some tea, and brought him a cup of chai. He smelled like lavender. Jon didn't make the connection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited. Again, not many things I changed, just the sentence format and a few timeline changes to make sure Jon isn't in the know about something he hasn't learned yet in the canon storyline.   
> Thank you so much for your reviews and kudos and for reading up to this point! I appreciate every single one of you. Have a wonderful day! :)  
> \--Fanaticit


	3. Dandelions and Clover Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the Prentiss attack, Jon grows terrified of what's around him, and Martin provides dandelions, clover flowers, and comfort.  
> -Content warnings:  
> -A panic attack  
> -Light gore/traumatic flashbacks

It was the 29th of July and daffodils were waiting for Jon in his office, along with plenty of paperwork and a statement to record from an André Ramao. Then Jon'd knocked over a bookcase and broken the plasterboard, and then someone had yelled to run, and Jon didn't know if it came from himself or not. And the worms had come through.

Hours and hours and hours and he didn't know what had happened and what was happening. What _was_ happening? 

It all just seemed like a blur. 

Jon wasn't allowed in the office, but he still snuck in to investigate the tunnels where Gertrude's corpse had been found. There weren't any new flowers on his desk, but he was supposed to be absent, so that made sense. Somebody had knocked over the vase of daffodils in the commotion, leaving them trampled over, soaked, and covered in shards of glass. Jon found the body of a worm in the mess while cleaning up the daffodils, it was crushed. Several case files were missing, too. 

The day that he came back into the office, new flowers were set on his desk in a new black vase. A big sunflower surrounded by blue flowers he wasn't familiar with. He decided to look up the name of the flower, but searching "blue flower with round petals" came up with millions of results, and none of them looked accurate. Eventually, Jon zoned out, scrolling through Image Search and lazily looking over hundreds of floral images. 

There really was a flower for every color. And some of them looked very strange. One type looked like the red dangle from a chicken's head but as a petal. Another legitimately looked like a small organ but was actually an elaborate assortment of red petals in an unusual shape. 

He saw an arrangement of flowers in a red vase. "Tan Roses and Lotus Seed Pods" is what the caption said under the image. Jon froze, unable to move his eyes away but terrified to keep looking.

The holes reminded him of Prentiss's skin, how it bulged but a tiny pore would open up and grow wider and wider. Until worms slipped out and left excess to slowly ooze out of her skin, a waterfall. How they would slide down her oily epidermis and emerge near the ground, moving faster than they should've.

How her red dress was streaked with substances from the worms, how they clung in her hair and her skin and her eyes. He remembered the crushed worm corpse, trampled over on his floor amidst the remnants of daffodils and broken glass. 

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe, because what if the worms came back and ate their way into his skin and his lungs and he choked on them? What if that was happening right now, and he was in shock, and couldn't do anything?

He couldn't move, but he somehow found himself slamming his laptop screen down. Then he was crawling like a child in the dark, grasping the sides of his desk and making his way to the floor. He leaned against the drawers, but the handles to them dug into his back, so he awkwardly moved his hands and knees to sit against the wall on the floor.

The same floor where they'd emerged from the floorboards, flooding his office in moments. How they'd burrowed into his skin, and the only way to get them out was the corkscrew. The corkscrew that was in so many of his nightmares these days. 

Jon furiously closed his eyes. Why couldn't he just breathe? He tried to slow his breaths but gave up in seconds when he remembered the blood seeping out of his skin as the worms were extracted using the corkscrew. How Sasha and Martin had to work together to get them out of his skin, holding him down and making him bite down on Martin's sweater so he wouldn't scream too loud. 

Jon closed his eyes again, trying to force the memories out of his head. It was like an invasive thought, the more he wanted to think of something else, the more he could only focus on those thoughts. 

"Hey Jon, I brought you some tea-- oh my goodness." Martin had opened the door and he was holding a mug, which he quickly spilled on the ground in the shock of seeing Jon hyperventilating on the floor.

He abandoned the tea to the desk, leaving the spill unnoticed. "Jon, I'm right here."

"God, Martin I can't breathe! I can't breathe, I can't stop thinking about it, and I saw these flowers and it looked like her skin," Jon rambled in a haze of panic and confusion. His breathing was erratic. 

"Jon, are you okay with being touched right now? Is that alright? Just say yes or no," Martin said firmly. He was somehow calm, which Jon didn't understand, but it was helping. 

He gasped in, then out, trying to get air back. "Yes, but Martin I can't breathe. I can't breathe."

Martin held out his hand slowly. "I'm going to take your hand, okay? He slowly held out his hand and entwined their fingers together, then brought Jon's hand to his chest. "Can you feel my breathing, Jon? Just nod." Jon did, so Martin continued. "Try to match your breathing to mine, okay Jon? I know you can do that. Just slow down."

Jon realized his hands were now in fists. "...I'm sorry. I'm trying." He did his best to count between breaths, even though they were shaky and shallow. He felt the steady rise of Martin's chest, and he could feel Martin's heartbeat with the back of his hand. 

"You're doing well. Just focus on breathing."

* * *

Catharsis really was an amazing thing. Jon felt clearer in the head the next day than he had in a while. He made his way to his office but saw Martin in the hallway. Oh goodness, was Martin going to want to talk about his panic attack yesterday? Jon looked away from him, hoping the "if I can't see you, you can't see me" tactic would work, but Martin approached him anyway.

He had something in his hands. A few dandelions and clover flowers in a glass jar of water. Martin had probably picked them on his way to work.

"I, umm, I hope you're alright with these. Sorry, they're really not as nice as the other ones you usually get, but I didn't have much time this morning and I wanted to do something for you, you know? Sorry. Thank you. Sorry... would you like tea?" he stammered, blushing.

"They're nice, Martin... thanks. Sure, I'd like some tea," responded Jon, slightly fascinated by Martin's odd demeanor. Martin hurried off to make English Breakfast and Jon smiled at the dandelions and clover flowers in the jar. 

They never discussed that panic attack again, but Martin's clovers and dandelions were a loving addition to Jon's office for several days.

To Martin, that was more than enough. He stirred a sugar cube into a mug and brought it to Jon's office, and smiled when he saw Jon asleep in his office chair. He imagined putting crowns of woven daisies into Jon's hair or bringing him a spontaneous bouquet or even Jon getting flowers for him, too. 

He smiled as he set down Jon's tea, and as he left, a petal fell onto Jon's lashes, gently waking him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is edited. Wow, the panic attack scene I wrote before was kinda trash. I'm glad it's fixed up now.  
> Thank you so much for every single comment and kudos and hit! I really appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day!  
> \--Fanaticit


	4. Bloody Carnations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the encounter with Helen Richardson and Michael, Jon knocks over some carnations and Martin helps him with his wound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you all! Thank you for reading this far, I appreciate each and every one of you!   
> Content warnings:  
> -Blood/Wounds/first aid  
> -Anxiety  
> It's not hardcore gore, no worries. Just a scene where a wound has to be treated. Be safe, though!

Jon had finally figured it out. Someone at the institute had been sending him flowers, and it'd been them this entire time. They'd been trying to send a message. 

Gertrude's killer had to be sending the flowers. After all, it was too strange to be a coincidence. He'd been trying to find Gertrude's murderer and the person who'd been delivering the flowers, then it clicked. He was looking for the same person. It was so incredibly obvious that he'd gotten angry at himself for not realizing sooner. 

So who had it been? Elias, Tim, or Sasha probably sent the flowers. Martin wouldn't, it wasn't his style. But maybe that was it-- had Martin killed Gertrude and taunted him with the flowers to throw him off?

He started stalking his coworkers and installed a false bottom to one of his desk drawers to hide private information and pictures he'd gotten of his colleagues, just in case they were watching him. The flowers kept coming: Laceleaf, Snapdragons, Zinnias. This week it'd been an orchid. 

Martin kept delivering him tea. Jon thought about throwing it out for a while. He contemplated throwing out the flowers too. But if Gertrude's killer wanted to kill him, why not just shoot him as they did with Gertrude? (Potentially) poisonous tea or toxic flowers would be a waste at this point since they already had so many chances.

Jon was making excuses, and deep in his head, he knew that. The flowers were comforting, the tea was a habit that made him feel safe. He didn't want to give up the small comforts. So he ignored them, tried not to think about it, focusing on finding Gertrude's killer and recording statement after statement after statement until his throat was sore instead. 

Helen Richardson came, and her pantsuit was the same shade of hot pink as the new carnations from this morning. She disappeared into the door, Sasha dropped by, and everything went down with Michael. 

Now Jon was bleeding, crying, and confused. Michael's long fingers had impaled his palm and cut deep, and the pain was making him dizzy. The blood was spreading down to his fingers and dripping onto the floor. He said several colorful words and tried to wipe it off, but it just made more of a mess. 

Jon looked around wildly, but he couldn't find any towels or tissues. He grabbed some spare papers to press against the wound. They were hard and unpliable and felt rough. He shifted the papers to soak up more blood as it flowed. Was there a first aid kit or something? He was running out of white space on the paper, the blood was coming too fast.

The cut was maybe a centimeter deep, and two inches long. It was stinging. He'd need to wash it, or it'd get infected. Jon stumbled towards the door, but his thoughts were background noise and his brain was woozy. He hit the vase with his hips when turning the corner around his desk, and it smashed into glass shards on the floor, getting water all over the floor and scattering pink petals. 

He dropped to his knees to rescue the flowers, but the blood seeped into the crushed petals. It mixed with the water, making the liquid on the floor pink like the carnations, like Helen's pantsuit before she disappeared. 

Jon heard rapid footsteps in the hallway. His office door opened, and there was Martin. His face quickly morphed into confusion, then intense concern. "Oh my lord, Jon. What happened-- is that blood?!" he ranted, anxious. "You knocked the vase over and cut yourself on the glass?" 

Martin looked around for a cloth to use as a bandage but found the same results as Jon had only a moment earlier. He thought for a moment, then unknotted his scarf and grabbed the bloody paper, throwing it into the bin. He took Jon by the wrist, being gentle with his palm, and wrapped the scarf around his hand. "Alright, that should do."

Jon put his other hand to his forehead, feeling an intense headache from the rapid emotions and pain in his head. Everything was moving too fast. 

Martin curled his fingers into his palms, digging his nails in. "Umm, we should wash your wound first. There's a first aid kit in Tim's office, I think. I'll grab it, you go to the bathroom, okay? I'll be right there."

"Okay," murmured Jon dizzily. He rose from the floor, bracing himself on the desk. Martin was already gone in a hurry. Jon held himself against the doorframe and the walls, wandering down the corridor and leaving a few drops of blood behind him. 

He reached the bathroom and felt depleted. It wasn't a very bad cut. Why was he so out of it? 

Martin rushed into the bathroom and found Jon clenching his fist into his scarf. "We should wash it with soap and water, I think. I'm not sure about first aid, but it can't hurt. Well, it might hurt," he rambled awkwardly. He turned the water on and waited for half a minute for it to warm up to a comfortable degree. Then he delicately unwrapped the now bloody scarf and guided Jon's hand under the sink.

The water turned red, then pink. Most of the blood flowed away instantly, but some of it had to be nudged away by Martin's careful, soft fingers. Martin held his hand under the soap dispenser and spread it onto the wound, making Jon grimace. Martin rubbed the soap in until bubbles appeared, then washed it away again. 

There were paper towels, so he used one to dab the water away from Jon's palm. It was already becoming bloody again, leaving the paper towel a watered-down crimson, but the bleeding was slowing down.

"Jon, do you know how to use the first aid kit? I don't know what to do," questioned Martin. Jon nodded and unhooked the mechanism keeping the box of supplies closed. It was more cluttered than Tim's drawers, and that was saying something. Instead of digging through bandaids that weren't in their boxes, Jon dumped the supplies onto the bathroom counter. 

Jon scanned the pile. "There's alcoholic stuff but that could do more harm than good. There's Neosporin-- can you open the cap and put some on my finger?" 

Martin did so, and Jon spread the clear gel onto his palm. "There are bandages too." Martin found one, and some bandage-like tape and scissors. He wiped away the blood again, then stretched a bandage across Jon's palm. He wrapped it around Jon's hand a few times and tied it off, and secured it with medical tape. 

"That should work, I think," Jon muttered. "Thank you, Martin." Martin washed his hands and shoved the medical supplies back into their box. 

"Of course, happy to help. I'm glad you're alright," Martin smiled. "I can put the medical stuff back and clean up the glass since your hand is injured. I'll make you some tea while you wait." 

Later, Martin poured the broken glass into a trash bag and tied it off. He heard steam whistling from the kettle on the stove in the cramped break room and got out his canister of earl grey lavender he'd gotten at a farmer's market. He put a teaspoon of it into the tea infuser and poured boiling water into the cup. Cream and two sugar cubes plopped in as well and he started to let it steep. 

He took out his notebook from his messenger bag and wrote down a reminder: "Jon's carnations fell. Get Ocean Breeze Orchids and a new vase tomorrow morning." Then he hid his notebook in his bag again and adjusted his glasses on his nose. The tea was ready. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited. There actually wasn't much wrong with it, but I removed some commas and tweaked a few sentences.  
> Thank you all so much for supporting this story, it means the world to me! Stay safe out there, and have a wonderful day!  
> \--Fanaticit


	5. A Halloween Flower Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim annoys Jon about who's sending the flowers, somebody decorates for Halloween, and Martin pines for human affection festively.

Ocean's breeze orchids were undoubtedly the most gorgeous flowers Jon had ever seen. They had the typical shape of an orchid flower, but instead of pearly white or a pastel color like most generic orchids, they were a gradient of strikingly bold hues. Dark amethyst, navy, and celeste blue, and they glowed like a blue and purple version of the Northern Lights. 

Jon didn't even know flowers could be this blue, so he did some research. It turned out that the ocean's breeze orchids and several other blue orchids were injected with dyes to look like that. It made them a little bit less impressive to Jon's eyes, but not to anybody else's. 

Tim, in particular, was stricken by the blooms in the newly-replaced ceramic vase on Jon's desk. But he wasn't interested in the flowers, he was intrigued by who was sending them. He stormed in on a late Friday night, dripping rainwater onto the carpet.

"Hey, boss. I think I left my phone here, have you seen it?" he announced in the doorway, making Jon jump. "Those flowers are new-- wait, are those bandages on your hand, there?"

Jon sighed. "It's nothing to concern yourself over, Tim. And I haven't seen your phone, maybe it's in your office?"

"I checked there already, but I came up empty, so I thought I'd bother you instead. Those flowers are new, I like them," said Tim. His volume and forcefulness in conversation bothered Jon since it was already so late, according to the old clock over the door. This is why Jon was particularly bothered when Tim sauntered over and took a seat in the chair opposite Jon at his desk.

"Could you at least take off your coat?" murmured Jon. Tim didn't hear him, slinging an arm over the headrest and sitting incorrectly, which got on Jon's nerves. "What do you need, Tim?" he attempted, deciding to try and make it as quick as possible so he could persuade Tim out of his office. 

Tim pretended to think, but it was clear that he didn't have to. "I was just wondering, boss. What's with the sudden fascination over flowers? They've been in your office every day recently." He poked the flowers, which made Jon shift in annoyance. 

"They just appeared, Tim. I have no idea what they're supposed to represent, but I'm keeping them around," Jon tiredly explained. Then he froze and turned his head up to look at Tim. "Unless... you know anything about them?" 

"I don't know, boss, but it sounds like somebody's gotten themselves smitten over you. Poor lass-- or lad, I guess." He wiggled his eyebrows, which made Jon very uncomfortable. 

Jon shook his head. "That's absurd. It has to be a message of some sort-- a threat. Or a plea for help? I'm really not sure at this moment, but flowers definitely don't symbolize attraction. That would be pointless."

Tim snorted. "You're delusional, boss." Then he entirely ignored the rest of what Jon had said, and started muttering to himself. "Well, it's not me. Martin, maybe? He's definitely smitten but he's too shy. Flowers would be adorable to him though, so I'll put that as a maybe."

Jon had entirely tuned Tim out by now, and focused on his paperwork instead while Tim theorized. "Elias, though-- that's definitely his style. Especially fancy bouquets and stuff like this. He definitely has the money for it, I bet it's pretty expensive to get bouquets and vases every week. But Elias Bouchard having a thing for his posh little Archivist-- damn, that's a scandal, isn't it?"

"Maybe Sasha? She's definitely confident enough to make a move, but I'm pretty sure she mentioned a new boyfriend or something like that, didn't she? The guy who works at Madame Tussaud's, I think."

Then Tim seemed to come to a profound realization. "Wait, if somebody's head-over-heels for you, then what are they thinking about your new girlfriend? That Basira lady, the scary one? Jonathan Sims, you smooth bastard. When did you suddenly get more popular than me? You're not even that handsome, that's not fair at all."

"Thank you, Tim. I appreciate the comment, truly," remarked Jon dryly. "And you're mistaken, as well. Nobody's sending these flowers as a confession or a gift of admiration. It must be something else entirely, there's no way around it. And you're getting mud on the floors from your rain boots." 

He wasn't listening, but he looked up for a moment. "Umm, thanks boss. See you later." He was muttering under his breath as he left, and he left his umbrella behind. Jon noticed, but he didn't want to have to speak with Tim for any longer on such a ridiculous topic, so he put it in the hallway once Tim was gone so it wouldn't clutter up his office.

Tim had to be wrong, of course he did. Who would have a thing for Jonathan Sims? 

* * *

Halloween week was busy, as usual. The orchids had gone, replaced by sapphire delphiniums that reminded Jon of lots of small eyes. They died very quickly, though, which he was glad for.

Then on Halloween week, there was an arrangement of bat orchids, black calla lilies, orange roses, and purple carnations in a skull-shaped vase. It was the only festive thing in Jon's office, which Sasha and Tim teased him about. 

Somebody had put fake plastic spiders all over the Archives, and Jon kept getting jumpscared whenever he opened drawers or took books off shelves. One had even ended up in Artifact storage, and now it was glowing green for some reason, so they'd had to lock it away in case it had other effects. 

Jon had just sat down on his desk and found a fake spider placed on his tape recorder. He startled, then got annoyed and swiped it into the bin. But directly after he did so, he realized someone had put several dozen googly eyes on his wall. They were glued there, so he had to scrape them off with a protractor. 

Nobody had come forward admitting that they'd decorated the Archives for Halloween, which was probably lucky, because Jon would've complained to Elias about it if he knew who the culprit was. They'd even put a carved pumpkin on Rosie's desk, which she had moved to the front steps. Now Jon had to see it every time he walked into the Magnus Institute. 

Martin had gotten some seasonal teas, like pumpkin chai, which Tim was obsessed with. He'd also gotten a lot of lovely herbal teas, with flavors like cinnamon spice and caramel apple. Jon preferred caffeinated black tea, but they weren't too bad either.

He'd also gotten into the habit of delivering tea to Jon in Halloween or autumn themed mugs, which he didn't seem to do with Tim or Sasha. Normally it would've annoyed him, but Martin seemed very proud of each cup, so Jon tried to thank him, even though it probably came off as stammering.

Martin seemed to love the holidays, and he was very excited to see the decorations. He stared quite wistfully at Jon's flowers, then realized somebody had put a fake spider on one of the stems to scare Jon again. He smiled softly and removed it, and made a mental note to get some spider lilies if this bouquet looked too shabby before Halloween.

He set Jon's mug down on an orange coaster. Before he left, he glanced at the steam rising from the surface of the tea, and was glad that the flowers and mug brightened up the room a little bit. Then he left to get some work done, and Jon was none the wiser. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited. Just a few typos, most of it was fine.   
> Your comments really make my day, and I hope you guys are doing well! It's Finals Week, so it's been difficult to write much, but I finally got a chapter out. All of you take care of yourselves and have a wonderful day!  
> \--Fanaticit


	6. Not actually a chapter

Hello, friends and fellow members of the TMA community!

I recently received a review that honestly really shocked me. I've seen reviews like this before on other works, and quite honestly, written a few myself. This isn't a normal chapter, but it's important because I've seen many things like this, and I decided that people didn't really realize how hurtful it was when they received reviews like this. So please stick around and listen, because I don't want this to happen to anybody else. 

I got a review from somebody. The review stated in several paragraphs how I could "improve" this work. I'll respond to some of it here. The review is in italics. 

_Hello there, fellow TMA fanfiction writer! I came here to criticize because I love the idea for this fic but it just hurts me to look at some of these things._

_One! Jon is so, so out of character. In the first chapter, when he acted paranoid I thought the action was taking place in season 2, because that's what s2jon acted like. S1jon would be more likely to snap at his assistants for acting unproffesional and demand who was leaving the flowers. It would be a great way to show just how hard did finding Gertrude's body impact him if he only started suspecting something afterwards the Prentiss incident. Otherwise it makes no sense. And then, you write s2 jon as if he's at least s3jon and even then, until maybe s5 Jon never opened out about his feelings like that. He just wasn't good enough at putting them into words, while here he does it so effortlessly._

_Two! I see no way in which grape hyacinth could remind him of Prentiss. There are many much more hole-y flowers out there to get- what even was this? It just- people don't act like that? It looks like a panic attack, but that description was so poor I'm not sure myself. If you wanted an easier reaction to write, then you should've gone with nausea. Anyone can write nausea. Please research panic attacks before you write them. As a person who has experienced them before, writing them as if it's, like, a minor inconvenience or discomfort or something and using it as a tool to make the character vulnerable and in need of comfort is just disgusting. If you didn't mean for it to be a panic attack, then it's fine, but it still did mislead me, so I would suggest changing that scene. If you did, please read up about it, because these attacks are a horrific experience. And you're writing a fanfic to a horror podcast. So show us the heat and sweating, the rushing heart, the uncontrollable short erratic breathing. Show us it's not something to calm down from with just a friendly pat and a cup of tea. Show us the full recovery procedure._

_Three! The dialogue. Every character has the same voice, which in my opinion is the most interesting part of writing any dialogue. Also, with the bit where Martin calms Jon down and Jon explains his feelings- he doesn't specify what flowers he means and it sounds af if he's talking about either the flowers he's received or flowers in general. And yet, Martin seems to perfectly understand what Jon means._

_Four! You tell too much and not show enough. For example, instead of saying that Jon is fascinated by Martin's demeanor, you could describe it as Jon leaning forward, scratching his chin, looking at Martin with curious/wide eyes and then show this fascination by him asking questions. Instead of saying that Jon was almost hyperventilating, describe the feeling of lungs burning from the lack of air or throat raw from the sharp breaths he's unable to stop. It's alright to tell instead of show if it's, like, the first draft, and you know you'll correct it later anyway. Is this the first draft? I'd suggest trying to rewrite a chapter - it sounds awful, I know, but I find that when I do this, all the other possibilities spring into my mind by themselves. I can't guarantee that it's like that for everyone, but I guess it's worth a try._

_Ok, so I sometimes have these rants of mine and You, fellow writer, just so happened to be the target of one of them. I undestand if writing isn't something you want to get as deeply into as I, if it's something you just do for fun. I've had many people telling me 'no, thanks' and I'm okay with that. But still, I hope it'll be useful as a future reference or something. And remember - this isn't me saying you can't do it, beacuse you can! This fic is just so sweet and it's funny to laugh at Jon's obliviousness. It just could be better._

_Keep going, because you're writing something (and that's more than 90% of people will ever do, anyway) and you're doing great!_

I realize that you meant this to be positive. But I need you to understand a few things, reviewer.

1\. I never, in this entire work, asked for constructive criticism. That doesn't mean I don't welcome it, but you should've asked if I was comfortable with it. This was a shock, and it hurt. 

2\. You aren't a professional writer, to my knowledge. It isn't your place to write such a long message detailing all of the mistakes of this fic, especially if I didn't ask for it. If somebody says they welcome constructive criticism, then you should write a very short message in as kind of a way as possible. Things like "It hurts me to look at some of these things" and "what even was that?" really hurt my feelings. 

3\. _"Is this the first draft? I'd suggest trying to rewrite a chapter."_ I started this fic and realized Jon was out of character. Normally I would've either abandoned the fic or rewritten it entirely. It's quite difficult for me to accept mistakes and move on, but after a lot of deliberation and anxiety, I decided that nobody would notice anyway. It was the first time, ever, that I had been able to make that choice, and I doubt that I'll be able to make it in the future because of this comment.

4\. If you're giving "constructive criticism," make it constructive. Instead of saying what's wrong with the fic, say what I could do better. It's clear that you don't have editing experience, or you would know this. It feels awful to have somebody tear your work to pieces.

5\. There was one thing that really got to me. You critiqued my scene of a panic attack, from chapter three. I'll admit, that wasn't my best writing. It was honestly really bad. I wrote that entire chapter and accidentally closed the tab, so I had to rewrite it and I was extremely annoyed while doing so. You said the description was so poor that you didn't even know if it was a panic attack-- that's criticism, and it's not constructive in the slightest. 

I've experienced panic attacks for several years, and I experienced one after I read your review, too. I do agree that they're terrifying in every way. You can't breathe, you can't think, you can't process anything that's being said to you. I've never actually read a good panic attack scene because there's no way to synthesize that feeling of being completely overwhelmed. But don't you dare assume that I haven't been through that, because it's been a consistent problem for me, for years. 

Panic attacks are different for everybody. At first, it was all about the symptoms for me. It was all about the current moment. But after working on my mental health for so long, I've learned about how I can pull myself out of them, and usually, that's through very simple things, like ranting as much as I need to and breathing and staying hydrated. It wasn't good writing, I know that. But your experience with panic attacks isn't the universal one, and you shouldn't assume something like that about me based on the apparent quality of my work. 

Martin has no idea what Jon is talking about in that scene, but he acts like he does because asking Jon to elaborate would just make it worse. I based that on my own experiences of how people react to me when I'm in a panic attack, and what actually helps me.

6\. " _I understand if writing isn't something you want to get as deeply into as I if it's something you just do for fun."_ I've been writing fanfic for five years, and it's very important to me. Stop making assumptions. It is something I do for fun, but I genuinely take pride in my writing. Well... I did. My self-esteem has gone down drastically since you posted this comment.

7\. " _It just could be better."_ All writing can improve, and I'm aware that I'm not perfect. I'm very far from it. But practicing my writing has helped my confidence, my skills, and it's how I've found many communities and friends. I really thought I wasn't terrible, but it's very interesting how one message that wasn't thought out can be cruel enough to destroy years of confidence in minutes.

* * *

This person meant no harm, but they sure as hell caused a lot of it. If you're reading this, please don't make these mistakes. If this person likes giving constructive criticism, then I hope they like receiving it, because this message is for them, too. 

Please don't go attack them or say any hurtful things. My intention with this message is to stop hurt from happening, not to cause more damage. I've done things like this in the past, too. They didn't realize how hurtful it would be. 

To all of the people who encouraged me, I appreciate you so much. You really made me happy, and every single one of you.

Writing is something I really enjoy, and maybe I'll continue writing, but not this story. If anybody would like to adopt it, let me know. 

* * *

EDIT (January 1st, 2020):

Wow, I was really negatively affected by one review. Remember y'all: your words have serious consequences. But really, thank you all. Your support meant a lot to me, and I feel really privileged to have such amazing people reviewing my fic.

And to the reviewer: it takes courage to admit you've messed up, apologize, and do better in the future. That means you're courageous because you did. Thank you for being a great human being and being mature and kind after realizing your wrongs. It meant a lot to me. 

I'm absolutely continuing this fic. It's been a source of a lot of joy and pride since I've started writing it, and I don't want to abandon it.

I just finished editing all of my chapters. For some sections I rewrote entire scenes, for some, I just fixed some sentence structure and typos. I think it's improved, though. The next update will be coming soon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, have a wonderful day! See you soon. 
> 
> \--Fanaticit


	7. Forget-Me-Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some flowers are delivered-- but not by Martin.

Thanksgiving and Christmas had come and gone. Martin, Tim, and Sasha had tried their best to make a celebration out of Christmas. They'd put snowflake lights up in the hallway of their offices, and small trees and garlands. And someone had left dozens of candy canes all over the archives. 

Jon had caught Martin sneaking miniature ceramic snowmen statues into bookshelves. He'd also gotten his iconic seasonal teas. Tim had been teasing him for the names on the tea boxes. "Sugar Plum Spice," "Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride," and "Candy Cane Lane." But once Tim realized he wouldn't get any tea if he kept teasing Martin, he quieted right up.

Martin also made hot chocolate, and not just the hot chocolate in little packets. He made real hot chocolate, and it was delicious. (Apparently, at least. Jon didn't try it, but Tim did, and he wouldn't stop asking for more marshmallows). 

Tim pronounced the word marshmallows wrong. He pronounced it marsh-a-mellow. It annoyed Jon for the entire holiday. 

It was just like Elias to not give them enough of a break. Jon wouldn't have even wanted one, but he heard Sasha and Tim complaining about not having enough time to visit family. He only gave them a week and a half, and two days for New Years. 

Someone started playing "All I Want For Christmas Is You," and that's when Jon bought some sound-proof headphones for a pretty good sale. He was annoyed when they broke the next day, and had to constantly complain to Elias when there was Christmas music in the background of his recordings. 

Poinsettias had been delivered to his office too. Sasha had mentioned they were toxic to cats, so Tim stole them for his own office because "they would infect Jon since he acted like a cat too." This turned into an argument, and since Elias was too high-and-mighty to intervene, Martin did instead. 

When the holiday was over, Jon was relieved. December hadn't been fun-- the archives had gotten dozens of statements from pranksters and lunatics who thought their elf-on-the-shelf was watching them while they slept. And it turned out that cutting down a tree outside and sticking it in your living room wasn't great if you were a paranoid arachnophobe, according to one statement giver who was shaking as they left.

January was cold. Martin caught Tim keeping a list of people's New Years' resolutions and making a graph of how long it would take them to abandon them. Jon wasn't going to make a New Years' resolution until Martin badgered him about hope and optimism for the new year. He made up something about exercise on the spot, with no plan to fulfill it. 

Sasha's resolution was something about getting work done. Martin's was to be more charitable and giving, which Jon thought was foolish because Martin already gave enough, and then some more. And Tim's resolution was too explicitly sexual for Jon to ever repeat. 

But January passed quickly as well, and early February was when the flowers changed. 

The flowers that had been delivered had always been in simple vases, with no message or indication of who'd delivered them. Whenever they died, Jon would throw them out and they'd be replaced the following day with no explanation. And Jon had never noticed the same flower twice. 

First, it was aconites. Jon had seen blue and yellow aconites before, but never purple ones. They were dark, resembling butterfly wings. They were in a clay vase, which looked like it had been shaped into a face, but like somebody had run their hand across the features before it dried, making it distorted and out of shape. 

Jon was alarmed when he found out that aconites were also known as wolfsbane, and they were highly toxic. He put on gloves and carried them out of the room, put them in a waste bag, and disposed of them. It was terrifying, to say the least. He safely removed the vase from his office and took it to Artefact Storage, since they knew how to dispose of toxic items. 

Was the person delivering the flowers Gertrude's killer after all? What had caused the sudden transition from lighthearted tulips and daisies to toxic flowers like these? How did anyone even get their hands on aconites?

And if they'd been going by the ridiculous flower symbolism, then the flowers represented misanthropy and caution, which was the opposite of reassuring as well. 

The same day, at lunch, he received another assortment of flowers. This one was in a plain yellow vase, and it was simple yellow roses. There was nothing strange at all about them. They appeared during Jon's lunch break, out of the blue. 

Martin seemed very troubled about the wolfsbane, the vase, and the message it seemed to send. He'd gotten to work late, and heard the whole story from Tim, who spoke in hyperbole when he told stories. Flair and grandeur and murder mysteries seemed to be the idea Martin had gotten from Tim's tall-tale-telling. 

While bringing tea, Martin suggested, very timidly, that the harmful flowers might've been from somebody else. When Jon pressed him on it, he blushed and got defensive, and went back to his desk. 

And that seemed to be it. Two weeks went by. The roses started to wilt. 

Jon was about to throw them out when Tim interrupted him from the doorway. "Heya, boss. So, I was thinking: why don't you save those flowers, mate?"

Jon furrowed his brows. "And why would I do that? There's no reason to keep wilted flowers around, they'll rot and mold. There isn't even sentimental value to them, they're just flowers." 

Tim tilted his head. "You really have no idea what's going on with them, do you boss? It's so obvious!" He invited himself in with no input from Jon, and sat down in Jon's office chair, with his legs over the armrests.

Jon tried not to show his fury at Tim's antics. Tim was obviously waiting for him to ask, but he wouldn't give him that advantage in the conversation. Tim didn't seem to mind that Jon wasn't interested in the conversation. He could hold up a chat by himself, anyway.

"Boss, someone's head-over-heels for you. It's the only explanation. Why else would someone deliver flowers for all this time?" Tim winked at him as he said this, and Jon shifted uncomfortably next to the rubbish bin.

"So you should keep the flowers! Or at least do a flower press or something. Even taking pictures would be enough. That way you could show them that you appreciated them!" Tim continued. He was shaking his hands in excitement, with a huge grin on his face. 

Jon sighed. "Tim, nobody's attracted to me. I'm Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute. And I'm not interested in _that_ anyway. If somebody's been sending me flowers for this long of a time, then they're probably a stalker or a murderer of some sort."

"But what if they're a really sexy murderer?" Tim complained. Jon gave him a look. "Okay, okay, fine, I'm just saying to keep your options open. And you don't have to be into "that" for people to like you. I mean, if I wanted it, no offense boss, you're not who I'd lust after. Maybe they're just looking for some hand-holding." He crossed his legs over the armrest and put his feet on Jon's desk. 

"Then how do you explain the wolfsbane?" Jon questioned. "And Tim, for the love of God, please take your feet off of my desk." He was scowling. 

Tim removed his feet but started spinning in the chair instead. "I dunno boss, but you should just keep it in mind, okay? Just some friendly advice. He grinned and left Jon's office, and Jon didn't notice that Tim had stolen one of his office pens. 

Melanie came to give a statement the next day, and the roses that Jon had ultimately decided to throw out were replaced by black ones. Again, Jon had no idea where the deliverer had gotten them-- they were quite rare, right? And Jon was also unsettled because even he knew what black roses represented. 

Melanie noticed the roses. She dryly asked if one of his relatives had passed, because black roses were used in mourning and funerals. Jon shook his head but didn't elaborate, taking her statement instead. She had quite a fit later over Sasha of all people. It left Jon a little rattled. 

The next day, they were joined by a new pale green vase, filled with poppies that reminded Jon of a dancer's delicate skirt, in a hue that reminded him of his favorite type of ice cream as a child-- orange sherbert. 

It unsettled him. Had someone else delivered both the wolfsbane and the black roses? Why? His suspicions arose as he read a statement that day. The creature that had taken somebody's mother. And he also noticed something strange... Sasha's voice was only present in the tapes that were recorded after Prentiss's attack. But could that mean...?

The next day, the black roses were gone. Only the poppies remained, brightening up the room. But the absence of the black roses, which were nowhere near wilted enough to throw away, bothered Jon even more than their presence had. 

And finally, on the sixteenth of February, Jon showed up at his office to find the poppies missing too. He recorded the final statement, of the "Not-Them" creature that had eaten that man's cousin. And the table... the pieces were all clicking together. 

He took a tea break. What else was he supposed to do? Martin handed him a mug of leftover seasonal tea from Christmas, which he'd ordered too much of and was still trying to use. Jon took a moment to breathe, sipping his tea as the mist from it flew up into his glasses and fogged up the lenses. Then he returned to his office.

On his desk sat the same distorted vase from earlier. It was holding a massive bouquet of forget-me-nots. Jon knew those flowers-- they'd been part of an arrangement a few months prior. And then it all came together. 

Forget-me-nots.

Forget me not... Sasha?

That thing was gloating. It'd been gloating the whole time. Ruining somebody's thoughtful flowers with a sinister gift snuck in beside the other bouquets. Wolfsbane, because it thought itself superior. Black roses, to brag that it had won, and she had lost. And forget-me-nots. Because they had all forgotten Sasha.

...Was that even her name?

It didn't matter anymore. He knew what to do now... it involved an axe and a table of fractals. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, finally got this chapter out. I wanted to say thank you to you all, for inspiring me to continue. I've never experienced such incredible support, and I really appreciated it. I'll keep that chapter up so others can learn from that mistake, but I'm going to continue this fic.  
> All of my previous chapters have finally been edited. Even though that review wasn't kind, it wasn't all wrong. I rewrote some sections (including the panic attack scene) and made some of them more accurate to the canonical timeline. Feel free to go back and take a look if you'd like. 
> 
> Stay safe, happy, and healthy, everyone! And as always, have a wonderful day.  
> \--Fanaticit


	8. Catnip and Houseplants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon ponders a lot, gives The Admiral plenty of catnip, and gets interested in houseplants while staying with Georgie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short update. I'm working on some scenes that will happen in the future that I want to be perfect, but I felt like I had to get some content out. 
> 
> It's a bit difficult to write these long stretches of time where Martin and Jon have no interaction, especially when Martin doesn't know if Jon's a murderer or not. I honestly just wanted to get this section of the storyline over with, so we can have some more important and interesting content. 
> 
> But we have some content with The Admiral in this chapter to make up for that, at least.

It was ridiculous, really. Sasha was dead, the Not-Them was trapped, Elias killed Gertrude. He'd encountered Leitner, who'd been subsequently killed after explaining some things that honestly made no sense. And now he was on the run, and probably a suspect for Leitner's murder. 

But the only thing he could think about was those flowers. 

At first, Jon thought that the Not-Them had been sending the flowers all along, and it had only started to send menacing arrangements when it knew Jon was on its tail. But the Not-Them had only taken Sasha after the Prentiss attack, and the flowers had been coming for a lot longer than that.

So the only options were Tim, Elias, and Martin... or some other nefarious force or monster. And now Jon was in Georgie's home, staring at the fake plastic tulips on her dining table and wishing for the comfort that the bouquets had given him. 

Statements started arriving. He needed them, they were like a hunger he couldn't satiate. But whenever he got a statement, he halfheartedly wondered if there would be a floral arrangement accompanying it, being delivered alongside the tapes. 

After all, the sender of the tapes had to be from the Magnus Institute, and there was a high chance that the sender of the flowers was too. So he hoped they would send something, even though it never happened. 

He hadn't told Georgie about everything yet, but she'd pried the information about the flowers out of him. She seemed incredibly intrigued about it, and rambled a lot about romance, although she threw several slights at Jon into the conversation. "You really have a secret admirer, don't you? Who would've guessed that someone would like Jonathan Sims?"

"I'm pretty sure you did as well at some point, Georgie," he responded while giving The Admiral a belly rub. Georgie just scoffed and said something about being foolish and delusional when she was younger.

Jon decided that Georgie would get along well with Tim. He then promptly decided that he'd have to do everything in his power to prevent them from meeting each other. That would be chaos. 

But she did buy a catnip plant from the pet store on her way home from her date, where she went to eat Hungarian food with a strange hypermasculine hiker. Instead of giving it to Jon, she just put it on the table, knowing that he'd notice it. 

Jon spent a lot of time playing with The Admiral and picking catnip leaves off of the plant to give to the cat. The plant looked pitifully scraggly now, but it was worth it because The Admiral did a lot of rolling on the carpet and purred louder than Jon had heard from a cat before. 

Georgie got into the habit of buying cheap plants at the supermarket when she went until Jon had a tiny collection of houseplants to take care of. He had to admit that they reminded him of the bouquets from before, which motivated him to take care of them better. 

Then everything went down with Jude Perry and Michael Crew. Several hours after shaking Jude's hand, Jon was curled up as small as he could, closing his eyes.

He remembered the expression "pain blooming," and then wished he'd never thought of the connection in the first place. Later he forgot that he'd ever made that comparison because he'd been so thoroughly in shock.

He'd visited Michael Crew, gotten kidnapped by Daisy Tonner, and saw Michael get shot. If Basira hadn't shown up... well, he really didn't want to think about what could've happened. And Elias had confessed to a lot of crimes, and now he was back at Georgie's house, having a breakdown. 

It was overwhelming. Too much happening at once. When he got to Georgie's home and realized that he'd neglected the houseplants and they were all dead in their pots, he suddenly felt the crash of all of the emotions from the past few weeks catch up to him. 

He got through it. Panic attacks certainly weren't new to Jonathan Sims. He read a statement, which calmed and intensified his nerves at the same time. It was like a drug, almost. He hated that he felt addicted to it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will be fun, I can't wait. This one was very short, but the next chapters will make up for that with a higher word count. Stay safe, happy, and healthy out there, y'all.   
> And as always, have a wonderful day!  
> \--Fanaticit


	9. Origin of the Wolfsbane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has been kidnapped by Nikola Orsinov. She tells him an awful story, reveals where the Not-Them got the wolfsbane and unintentionally gives Jon a hint as to who's been delivering the flowers all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings:  
> -Kidnapping/Abduction/Restraints  
> -Forced lotioning (just referenced, not described in detail)  
> -Nikola Orsinov (Nikola Orsinov is her own content warning)  
> -Skin/Skinning/Skin tearing (just mentioned, because Nikola Orsinov is obsessed with skin)  
> -Mild blood/gore (really for just a few sentences)  
> -Extreme phobias (coulrophobia, fear of clowns)  
> -Heart failure/seizures/panic attacks (just mentioned)  
> -Death (not a major character in any way)  
> -Lots of clowns

Jon opened his eyes and found himself in a dimly lit room, yet again. So it hadn't been a dream. His eyes felt itchy. He shuffled around before realizing there was no way he could reach them with his hands still bound to this chair. 

From the worn ceiling, a wire snaked its way through ceiling boards and down, holding a clouded lightbulb in place. It swayed hypnotically. 

His skin felt slimy. Being rubbed with that goddamn lotion left his skin the same texture as raw fish. Jon flinched when he thought of that, and tried not to imagine Nikola Orsinov parading around with his skin on her shoulders like a cape. He tried not to imagine it, but he did anyway and felt a wave of nausea claw up his throat. 

She'd spent the entire day watching as faceless people in court jester apparel and masquerade masks rubbed lotion into every spot of his skin. It had been so uncomfortable that he was trying to focus on other things. She'd been speaking... what had she been saying? Oh yes, something about a festival.

"A festival of clowns," Nikola Orsinov had said. "They go on a parade down the streets. Everyone dons their facepaint and their largest clothing and joins in until the streets are filled with them. Children, adults, even the elderly. Just a sea of them."

"Well, there was this tourist from Edinburgh, who didn't know about the festival. Unfortunately for him, he had some extreme coulrophobia. He was sleeping in his hotel one night when he decided to get some water."

Nikola smiled inhumanly wide, displaying her pointy teeth. "But on his way to the vending machine with water bottles, he stumbled across a child wearing white face paint with bright orange accents. The child was getting ready for the festival."

"But the tourist panicked when seeing the little clown, and it took a minute of leaning against the hallway door for him to calm down and acknowledge that it had just been a child in wild makeup. Nevertheless, he decided to go outside and get a breath of air to quiet his nerves."

"So he went to the hotel parking lot, but he saw a light in the distance. He went to the sidewalk and saw hundreds of clowns down the street, slowly advancing toward him. They were all talking to each other, but the words weren't distinguishable, he could only hear a communal murmur humming over the crowd."

Nikola's face was alight with horrific glee. "And so he started to seize up. Before the crowd could notice him, he started hyperventilating, and his heart started to fail. He fell to the ground, and his skin started to struggle to pull itself over his bones. It tore from the inside out from the stress, roughly."

"When they found his body, everyone thought there'd been a homicide, based on the scene and the blood. But no-- it was just the sheer pain in his head from the terror, taking a physical form. He was torn apart, his skin was like rubber. I think he would have benefitted from some lotion, don't you?" she quipped, but Jon just wanted to vomit. He didn't want to listen to this anymore. 

"Speaking of homicides, I heard that you killed your friend. What was the name again? Sasha?" Nikola braved. Jon tensed up. He wanted to defend himself, to tell Nikola to stuff it, but his mouth was covered, so all she could hear from him was muffled complaining.

"And how rude of you, too," she continued. "I mean, it tried so hard to keep you off its trail. But it knew you'd figure out eventually. I was keeping my tabs on it all, of course," she announced. Jon gave a questioning muffled noise. "Well, of course, I was! Who did you think provided the wolfsbane? That was a very apt detail, I thought it was perfect."

"Of course, it served two purposes. It made you uncomfortable, _and_ scared your 'special someone.'" Jon's eyebrows furrowed. Nikola laughed, but it sounded more like a shriek. "Don't tell me you don't know?" she questioned. "Now, that's just blind, Archivist. I'll admit, I didn't expect such naivety. I wonder if he'd be angry?"

Jon's head was racing. She'd said "he." So it was a man sending the flowers. Nikola continued. "Do you think he'd be angry if I took your skin and killed you? I think he would. Maybe I can send him some lotion to apologize before I slaughter him, too." 

His thoughts were all over the place. So it had to be one of the men of his team? That seemed the most likely. So Tim, Elias, or Martin.

Tim had seemed very amused by the flowers and he'd brought them up a lot, but maybe he was just trying to gauge Jon's reaction to them? Martin was always stumbling over his words around Jon, he'd noticed. This was the sort of caring thing he'd do. Or... Elias. A pipe murderer with a drug habit and heaps of money.

Well, it was most likely one of them, and Jon was going to get to the bottom of it all. That is... if he survived this. Nikola was now ranting about how difficult it was to ship wolfsbane in the post. It was probably going to be a while if he even escaped at all. 

He wasn't anticipating Michael's arrival. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust Jon to focus more on the flower conspiracy than escape from his kidnapping by killer clowns. That's our Jon. Also, some Michael content next chapter. My favorite lad!  
> I hope you all are staying safe, happy, and healthy. And as always, have a wonderful day!  
> \--Fanaticit


	10. Passion flowers and dame's rockets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon witnesses the destruction of Michael and starts to realize who's been behind the flowers this entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings:  
> -Canonical Character Death (From MAG 101)  
> -Overwhelming visuals described in detail (phosphenes, TV static, basically just descriptions of The Spiral).  
> -The Spiral gets its own content warning. Helen Richardson's fingers do, too.

Michael was screeching, and for a moment, Jon could see everything and nothing. Michael's skin had dissolved into a limp figure vaguely resembling a human form, but every color had blended together and seeped out of them. It left their body resembling phosphenes, those lights Jon would see when he closed and rubbed his eyes. 

Phosphenes happened because your eyes couldn't comprehend what they were seeing while being rubbed through closed eyelids. Maybe he just couldn't comprehend Michael's dying form. They were covered in patterns, and Jon could see anything in them if he tried, like looking for faces in mountains or sheep in a cloudy sky. 

Like clockwork. An unlimited bouquet. A spiral of patterns that went on forever, optical illusions that twisted your mind and distorted reality. 

Just as soon as Michael screamed, they went silent. The remnants of their body distended to be as slim as paper and slipped under the Distortion's door, even though there was no space to fit under it. The door then dangled open, wobbling. 

It was... her. She stood in the doorway, backed by a field of whirling TV static. The sight made Jon's eyes hurt. He'd prefer looking directly at the sun to this, it hurt his head if he looked too hard. He squinted through his eyelashes, taking in her extended fingers, each one almost reaching the floor. 

She didn't smile, but she raised her lips in a menacing imitation of a grin.

"Do you want to come in?" Helen Richardson asked. 

* * *

Jon had only been back for two days, but the flowers were back. His desk was dusty and the lightbulb had started flickering in the ceiling fixture, so he'd gone to fetch a spare bulb and a rag.

When he'd returned, a brown vase was sitting on his dusty desk, filled with passion flowers and dame's rockets. Jon had been particularly amused by the name of the latter. He wiped away the dust and put the rag onto the corner of his desk. He'd grab it on his way out. 

He tried to stand on a stool to reach the light fixture and replace the bulb. But to his infuriated displeasure, he couldn't reach it, even on his tiptoes. He couldn't just ask for help, that would be humiliating. Jonathan Sims could fix a damn lightbulb, thank you very much. 

Or maybe not. He struggled to reach it even when he moved his desk and stood on it, and decided it wasn't worth the risk of dropping any pieces of the fixture or falling off of the desk. Jon huffed to himself and settled on writing a quick note to Martin. He set it on his desk and went to the main area to get some coffee.

Jon returned to find the dirty rag from earlier gone, and the lightbulb installed. Martin hadn't only fixed the light, he'd tidied up Jon's office. He'd hung up Jon's coat on the door's peg too, which Jon never bothered to do. 

Martin had always been so considerate. Jon tried not to show how touched he was when Martin passed in the hallway later. When they accidentally brushed shoulders because the hallway was too slim, they both flinched, brought hands up to the place they'd brushed shoulders, and blushed in unison.

Then they'd both decided that it had never happened at the same time. But seeing the pink on Martin's cheeks made Jon question the origin of the flowers. Martin was so kind and thoughtful.

He thought about it. Martin had literally put fake spiders up for Halloween and made heart streamers for the office on Valentine's Day. Delivering flowers... it was the exact sort of thing he'd do. And Martin wasn't exactly subtle about being affectionate. He always hugged Tim and Sasha, before.

Martin had even hugged Jon once, early in his years at the Archives. Nobody in the office spoke of that fiasco, but it had happened. 

Was Martin delivering the flowers?

It would make sense. Jon contemplated it and decided to confront Martin about it later. But right now, he had tickets to Beijing to book, and tracks to follow. He couldn't concentrate on anything like this right now, he'd have to wait until he returned from China. 

He'd ask Martin about the flowers. Just... not right now. He'd get to it, though. He absolutely wasn't avoiding it. Of course not. 

* * *

Extra: Martin's poetry: Assorted haiku of very average talent.

_Oh, my foolish heart_

_You are so paranoid, love_

_They're only flowers_

_I'll never confess_

_Through words, I suppose, but then..._

_Blooms should say it all_

_White gardenias_

_Denote peace and harmony_

_Peonies next week?_

_Tim wants to know more_

_About Jon's love life, and all_

_Romance and petals_

_I delivered them_

_Jon, why can't you see sometimes?_

_I'm right here, waiting_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael doesn't have long fingers, they're just really fierce five-foot acrylic nails. 
> 
> Sorry about such a short week, I'm in Finals Week and it was all I could do to just get out a chapter. I added some intentionally average Martin poetry to compensate, and some long chapters will be coming soon, as soon as we reach some pivotal moments in the canonical storyline. 
> 
> Jon seems to be piecing together the puzzle! Will he find out that Martin's been delivering bouquets as a token of his romantic affection? I guess we'll find out. Every comment, kudos, bookmark, and hit makes my day. Thanks for everything. And as always, have a wonderful day, all of you.
> 
> \--Fanaticit


End file.
